Ten Minutes Ago
by Lasso the Moon
Summary: I have found her, she's an angel, with the dust of the stars in her eyes. We are dancing, we are flying, and she's taking me back to the skies! 1911-the night Evelyn Napier met Mary Crawley.


**Spring 1911**

_Here we go again_.

The last one of these balls was terribly boring, and he was half tempted to slip out the back door and _walk _home, but he had promised Eddie Salisbury that he would go to this party, as well as his mother, who was unwell. Eddie was his cousin and a classmate at Oxford, more intent on being a scholar than a politician. He was the second son of the Baron Salisbury, so his dreams of academia were well within reach. Evelyn of course was the son and heir of the Viscount Branksome, which of course meant he'd be fending off debs all night. He had never even met the Earl of Grantham, but it appeared his eldest daughter was coming out into society and so he had seen fit to throw a ball. It was tradition.

But tradition or not, he wasn't sure how keen it was to dance with another giggling schoolgirl. The swirl of gowns and the utter fruitlessness of it all had never held any charm for him. Perhaps the first year it had been so, simply because it was his first, but he knew now how the system worked. He was expected to marry whomever he danced with long enough. Relationships, in the eyes of the nobility, were built upon status and wealth. He had both, and it was his duty to marry someone who had that in common. Evelyn was of the opinion that a marriage should be built on more than that, but it certainly wasn't the opinion that ruled their class.

As cynical as Evelyn felt, Eddie's first real ball and he was far more excited than he was. He thought it cruel to ruin it for him, which was why he simply smiled and nursed his glass of wine. The Countess of Grantham was an old friend of his mother, who had opted not to make the trip from Dorset to London this year. He figured that he would just dance with the daughter and whoever else came his way, then leave for White's whenever the opportune moment arrived.

"Golly, I've never seen anything more fascinating, have you? It looks like something out of a fairytale." Eddie commented, grinning at the passing couples as they waltzed about the ballroom.

"You could say that." Evelyn nodded and raised the glass to his lips, his sapphire eyes regarding the scene before him. He recognized several of the attendees. There was the Earl of Rochester, there was Miss Harrington, there was. "Good God, who is she?" She was wearing red, which contrasted so well with her milky skin and midnight hair. She was dancing with a tall man with chestnut hair—Patrick Crawley, he knew his face from the Foreign Office. "Excuse me." He told Eddie, who was squinting over at the pair.

"Patrick? So sorry to interrupt." When her eyes met his, it was as if time itself had frozen. Like fairytales indeed, he felt like such a fool. She was beautiful, there was no question—stunning—but he refused to believe he had been so easily ensnared by a deb at her first ball.

"Evelyn! This is the Lord Branksome's son, Mary, Evelyn Napier—the _Honorable _Evelyn Napier, son and heir to the Viscount Branksome. This is my cousin, Lady Mary Crawley." Patrick introduced them with a smile and a nod, clasping his hands behind his back.

"How do you do, Mr. Napier?" She didn't look nervous at all—she had the bearing of a Countess, regal and graceful, and so unwaveringly confident. Her eyes were magnificent, chocolate pools with a spark in them, staring straight into his soul.

He cursed his poet's mind and offered her his hand. "How do you do, milady? How are you finding your first season?"

"Oh, it's thrilling. My expectations have certainly been exceeded—part of me never wants to leave London."

"London does have that effect on people." Evelyn stated with a nod and a smile. "Home is in Yorkshire? Positively idyllic county."

"Mr. Napier's family resides in Dorset." Patrick explained.

"It is—but it must but just as beautiful in the south." Mary remarked. Her smile was positively charming.

"Oh, I love it. Business keeps me in London but there's so much to do—there's the sea, the hunt…"

"Do you hunt, Mr. Napier?"

"Good heavens, you've gotten her started." Patrick interjected with a laugh. "I'll leave you to it. Mary's only the second best hunter in the family."

"I believe you mean best, Patrick." Mary called after him, shaking her head.

"What's this?" Evelyn asked with an amused quirk of his lips.

"It's a bit of a game, really. Patrick thinks he's the better horseman. I've been riding since before I could walk. And my thoroughbred—Diamond—she's my pride and joy. He's no match for us."

"My Joey is much the same. Thoroughbred, racing horse. I'm something of a jockey. I'll actually be in the Ascot next week. Lucky number seven." Evelyn was a humble man and although he rarely bragged about much of anything—he had to admit that he _hoped _this impressed her.

It appeared so, because her eyes seemed to light up. "Then I shall have to cheer you on—my family and I will be there."

"Well then, I suppose I'll have all the good luck in the world." he commented and she laughed coyly, ducking her head. "Might you do me the honor of a dance before then?" It was bold—as they were supposed to be using cards, and he was certain that her card would be full.

"The honor would be all mine."

It was with a surprised but pleased smile that the viscount's son took the debutante's hand, leading her to the center of the ballroom just as the music changed into a familiar Viennese waltz. They were off in seconds, turning about the floor. "I do rather love this song. I can't quite remember the composer, but I remember hearing it at a concert in Austria."

"You've been to Austria?"

He grinned at her enthusiasm and nodded. "Indeed, I was on staff at the embassy. It was one of my first assignments after university. I even got a glimpse of the Emperor at a parade. Everything was so terribly lavish, it's absolutely magical. Beautiful country, culture, everything." He spun her around and then retook her hand, feeling as if the floor had vanished beneath them and they were flying. They were in a room full of dozens of partygoers, it was still the Season, the most fickle event in the fickle society they were both a part of, but this he would cherish forever.

"I'd like to go someday. I so enjoy reading about it, but to see it, experience it in person…" Her eyes grew distant, dreaming perhaps of royal balls and opera houses.

"Perhaps you will. You must allow me to tell you of my travels at a later date, I've quite a collection of stories."

"Perhaps I will." Their conversation paused as he lifted her and set her down. "Contingent upon your performance in the race. It will give you something to look forward to."

He exchanged a grin with her and clasped her hand as they circled one another. "I'm already looking forward to it—as well as your watching. That's motivation enough not to fall…when I've someone to impress."

"Well, then, Mr. Napier, I will see you at the race." She curtseyed as the dance ended, and he bowed, taking her hand again and loathe to let go, but he did, as Patrick seemed to want a dance. "Until then."

"Until then, Lady Mary." He nodded and released her hand, returning Patrick's smile before backing away and returning to Eddie's side.

"I'm assuming that was the Earl's daughter? You looked smitten."

"Did I?" His eyes followed her and Patrick across the room, confused by what was almost jealousy creeping upon the outskirts of his mind. He had been in the clouds—was still in the clouds, and it was wonderful. Frightfully wonderful…and heaven only knew if he would come down again.


End file.
